The Last Dragon
by The Raving Egotist
Summary: "I am many things, ser. I'm a survivor. I am a warrior. I am the last dragon, and I am the one true king."


**A/N: OK, so, here goes! Welcome one and all to the Last Dragon. I'm roughly a hundred percent Certain that this premise, or some variation thereupon, has been done near-to-death by now, but here's my take on the tale of a Targaryen survivor of Robert's Rebellion.**

 **This is actually the first thing I've put up on this site, so I really hope you'll enjoy!**

 **I don't own ASOIAF or anything, all credit to GRRM.**

* * *

 **284 AC**

* * *

Lord Eddard Stark stood, silent and solemn, staring through wrought-iron bars at the golden monster inside.

"My lord of Stark," Ser Jaime Lannister said dryly. "Where has your crown got to?"

"I did not take it," Eddard replied. He shifted uncomfortably in his armour. "It belongs by rights to Robert, as you well know."

Silence filled the humid cell below the Red Keep. Truly, Eddard had no idea what to make of the man in the cell; Jaime Lannister had been raised high so young by King Aerys, raised to stations boys his age could only dream of, and mere hours ago he had soiled that golden sword of his with that very same king's blood. He had broken his vows. Forsaken his honour.

And still he smiled.

"Your lord father has taken up residence in the Red Keep, and I'm told Robert shall reach the city come nightfall. Judgement will be passed upon you then," Eddard told him. Jaime's impossible smirk grew wider, but it still didn't those cold green eyes.

"You seem to be passing enough judgement on me as it is, Stark. Tell me, what did state did the brave knights of the west leave King's Landing in?"

 _So, he knows_ , Eddard swallowed hard. _This is some sort of test, by the gods._

"Lord Tywin ravaged and burned and raped across the city," Eddard answered, his face betraying no emotion. "He led his forces from the back, as is his wont, and Ser Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch reached the Red Keep first."

At this, Ser Jaime's sickening smile faltered. "Clegane. He..."

"Ser Gregor killed the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. He smashed Aegon's head upon the wall of his mother's bedchamber, and Ser Amory Lorch gutted Rhaenys soon afterward." _Have I passed your test, kingslayer?_

"Elia Martell is my father's hostage, then," Ser Jaime said, though it came hoarse and uncertain. Eddard shook his head sadly.

"No. Ser Gregor raped her and crushed her skull. She is dead."

At this and at last, Jaime Lannister stopped smiling and got to his feet. He was sluggish, and his eyes unfocused.

"The brother."

"Aegon is dead, ser."

"No, no, - dammit, Stark. You must release me. An innocent life is at stake."

Eddard would've laughed, had the complexion of this false knight's face not been pale as milk. He frowned.

"Stannis Baratheon sails to Dragonstone on the morrow to capture the queen and her children. He will not kill them without just cause, I... I promise, ser." But this did nothing to calm the fallen Kingsguard. His hands, wrapped round the bars of his cell, his knuckles bone white.

"You don't understand. My father is here, Stark, you - gods be good, Robert Baratheon is coming here. Release me. Now."

"Calm yourself. Speak. Tell me what you need."

Ser Jaime stepped back and breathed deeply, slowly. He looked up, collected again, but his smile had not survived the transition.

"Lord Eddard. Unlock this cell. You have my sword. I have no weapons. If I try to harm you do whatever it is you Starks do to traitors up in the North. Behead me, or what have you. But let me out."

Eddard watched him for a moment longer, than called the turnkey and unlocked the cell.

"Tell no-one we have gone until we have returned. None can know, especially Lord Tywin," he told the reedy-looking jailor, who hurried down the hallway.

Lord Eddard followed the golden-armoured knight out of the cells and into the courtyard, eventually arriving at White Sword Tower. For a moment, Ser Jaime hesitated at the door, his hand raised but frozen. His face seemed to contort in something like pain as he entered into the tower in which he had forsaken his right to walk.

"Speak of this to no-one, Stark," Jaime said hurriedly as they climbed the staircase to the quarters of the Lord Commander. _The White Bull's chambers_ , thought Eddard as he entered the room.

What drew his eyes immediately was the stain; blood, red on the white sheets of the bed. And then Ser Jaime knelt, ducking beneath the bed.

"He is... He is my burden, Lord Eddard. My fault. Aerys I do not regret, Aerys I will not justify, for you would not understand. But this one... He is mine. I will own up to that."

And from beneath the bed, he drew a basket. A basket of blankets, with something squirming inside.

"Prince Daemon Targaryen was what his mother named him before Willem Darry brought her and her other children to Dragonstone. Rather than let her kingly husband see him, she gave him to me."

Eddard was agape at the boy, still and soundless, sleeping peacefully. Strands of silver-gold hair had already sprung upon his head. _A dragon indeed._

"Not my father, not Robert, nobody can know. He is my burden. Mine alone. No-one can know, do you hear me? _No-one can know."_


End file.
